


Healing

by SOMNlARl



Series: Kinkmeme Prompts [5]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bathtubs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a da_kink meme prompt: </p><p>Dorian is already sweet in his own, snarky way but as I'm currently dying from a chest infection myself I thought a sick prompt would be fun. Our lovely eleven Inquisitor is sick from hanging around with all these shems and running a nasty fever. It's up to Dorian to take care of the poor , over worked dear. Massive massive bonus if someone can fit him in calling Lavellan Amatus AND sweetheart, because the concept of Dorian calling the Inquisitor sweetheart in a fond manner makes me all mushy inside my shrivelled up heart. </p><p>http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12149.html?thread=47855221</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr [here](http://dragonagesinquisition.tumblr.com/). And give me all your prompts.

Athris Lavellan was sitting at his desk, quilt tucked around his shoulders, head propped up in his hands. Ordinarily he would have relished the chance to get caught up on paperwork and finally do some of the reading that he’d been putting off for weeks. Instead he found that he couldn’t concentrate, his head felt like it was stuffed full of thick, suffocating cloth and a throbbing ache had settled deep behind his eyes - he’d spent much of the last few hours in between painful fits of coughing that threatened to crack his ribs. No matter what he did he couldn’t quite seem to get comfortable. Despite summoning the best spell he could muster to stoke the fireplace the room felt colder than the Emprise. Not that his best spell was very good today but still, with the way the flames danced and leapt in the hearth it should have made more difference than this. He shivered and coughed harshly again, pulling the quilt closer around him to block out the frigid draft that was settling deep into his bones. 

He turned back to the reports, unable to muster any real enthusiasm for his work. After just a few moments of reading he found himself yawning deeply and laid his head down on his desk, right on top of the stack of papers, arms thrown out in front of him across the wood. He didn’t hear the door open or he might have ordered the mage out before he’d crossed the threshold. This was no place for anyone to be. 

“A little birdie told me you got yourself kicked out of the war room but I had to come see it with my own eyes to believe it” came a familiar voice from across the room. 

Athris snapped his eyes open, he would have jumped a foot in the air had he the energy to do so. As it was he settled for offering Dorian, who was leaning elegantly up against the door frame, a wan, halfhearted smile in greeting. 

“Pitiful, Amatus, that’s what you are. Truly pitiful. You know I can’t abide weakness.” Dorian’s voice was thick with poorly masked concern. 

His eyes closed again, Athris murmured “You shouldn’t be here, Dorian. Go. Please. Before you catch this.” 

“Oh, believe you me. If you do pass this ghastly mess on there will not be enough pampering in the world to make it up to me. But alas, you're not getting rid of me that easily. Mother Giselle already despises me, what would she think if I left our dear Inquisitor to suffer alone? No, this is the only thing for it. Perhaps, if you live, they'll give me a medal.”

Athris risked a small laugh and immediately regretted it, it caught in the back of his raw, protesting throat, forcing another bout of wet, agonizing coughing. His chest felt like it was caught in a vise, clenching tighter and tighter, breath wheezing with every attempt to drag air back into his lungs. For a brief moment the room went black, flashes of light teasing behind his eyes until finally, the spasms abated.

He groaned softly and buried his face back into the pile of reports.


	2. Chapter 2

“You sound like shit.” Dorian’s voice was close now, too close, but Athris couldn’t summon the energy to look up and meet his eyes. 

“Really? That's a relief. Because I feel much worse than shit,” he admitted, his voice a whisper, just barely audible, to try to forestall the pain but still it felt as though the back of his throat had been replaced by shards of glass digging into an open wound. 

“Hush, that wasn't a question.” Dorian said. “That much is obvious to anyone with half a brain, don’t waste your breath. Drink.” He filled a glass from the jug of water sitting on the edge of the desk and pressed it into the elf’s hand. 

Athris made a valiant effort to raise his head but it was too heavy, as though it was carved out of marble. He started to fall forward again until Dorian caught him by the shoulders, raising him up and settling him back upright in his chair with a tenderness that caught the elf by surprise. 

He sipped at the water, gingerly at first, then he took a deeper drink and then another, enjoying the cool kiss of it as it slid down his throat. Dorian must have cast a frost charm on it he thought, it had been sitting out since the night before as he’d been too tired to change out the water this morning - it shouldn't have tasted this wonderful. 

“Good?”

He nodded and sighed happily as he felt the touch of Dorian’s cool palm against his forehead. He knew he should say something, tell his lover again to leave while he still could but the words escaped him, he craved Dorian’s touch too much. He'd not thought of the man as especially demonstrative at first, cloaked in layer upon layer of arrogance and bluster but he had come to learn the depths of feeling and care hidden underneath. 

Then he felt a soft touch through his hair, coming to rest at the back of his head. Adept fingers stroking against his skin, rubbing small circles at the base of his neck just served to remind Athris why he needed Dorian here now, even if anywhere else in Skyhold would have been a safer place for him. Preferably far away from Skyhold, he thought. Possibly even back in Tevinter, that might be far enough away to save him. 

A soft thumb stroking the long underside of an ear jerked him out of his thoughts. 

“Up, Amatus. Time for bed. You can’t sleep at your desk.” Dorian’s voice cut through the fog around him like a sword and he tried to obey, he really did. Tried to use one hand to push up on the desk and then the next. He tried standing and managed for a moment but the room spun, the floor tilted dangerously beneath his feet and his jellied muscles collapsed under his weight. He fell back into the armchair. 

“Too tired. Just let me die here” he rasped, his voice which had been threatening mutiny all morning having disappeared entirely in the last few moments. He tried clearing his throat but ended up cutting it short and whimpering softly at the quick flash of pain it brought on. 

“Honestly Athris, if you wanted to be carried from room to room you really should have considered seducing the Bull. I’m a brilliant scholar, most definitely not made for manual labor.” Athris opened his mouth to protest, to say that he was perfectly fine where he was thank you very much and Dorian could just leave him there but then he felt himself lifted up quilt and all, an unexpectedly strong arm under his knees and another behind his neck. He nuzzled his face against the mage’s chest, enjoying the cool silk of Dorian's robes against his cheek before he had to quickly turn his head away for another fit of sharp, wracking coughs.


	3. Chapter 3

When he was able to breathe again - even shallowly was something - he felt soft lips, slightly chapped, against his brow. “Sweetheart… Amatus, shhhh” he heard lightly spoken against his skin and at that he relaxed into Dorian’s arms. Athris might have been slightly concerned at the heat he was absorbing from his body had it not felt so wonderful to bask in his warmth - it felt like lying in the grass on a sunny summer day in the Graves, just like he had as a boy - and had he not been dimly aware of the fever making him feel like a block of ice. He whimpered softly as he felt nothing but the mattress beneath him, missing the mage's touch. Out of Dorian’s arms the chill came back and he shivered deeply, curling up into a tighter ball of knobby knees and elbows under the quilt, wincing as each of his joints protested, the deep ache in his bones unwilling to relinquish its hold. 

“It’s so cold,” he whispered to no one in particular, no longer able to hear the delicate click of Dorian’s boots against the floorboards. He could hardly blame the mage for leaving, a sickbed was no place for anyone and Dorian had always professed not only a lack of interest in but a deep disrespect for the healing arts. Strange really, how their people differed. His Keeper had always emphasized the knowledge of how to mend broken bones, to lower a fever, to stitch wounds and ease basic ailments. Traveling through the wilds as they did this was critical, more important than learning the lore of their people or keeping alive the old ways. As First, Athris had excelled under his Keeper’s tutelage, swiftly becoming a healer that even other clans would seek out when they had need. A pity, he thought now, that he had never been able to muster that power for use on himself. Dorian, on the other hand, had always maintained that in Tevinter the healing arts were considered the basest of magic, not fit for any mage with an eye for something better than a rung or two above slavery. Servant’s work it was, healing, no potential for advancement. An Altus, if they picked up any healing spells at all, would surely keep that knowledge secret, tucked tightly against the chest. 

The bed dipped under an unexpected but familiar and eagerly welcomed weight. He felt the quilt be pulled down, exposing his head to the icy air and he started to protest. “Tea. Here, drink” Dorian said, handing him a mug which he took and drank greedily. It didn’t taste of much, maybe a little embrium, but the heat of it felt wonderful, warming him from the inside just enough to stop his shaking. “Ma vhenan…” he whispered, ignoring the burst of pain that came with each word. Dorian took the mug from him when he was finished, placed it gently on the ground and fixed Athris with a probing stare. "Still cold?" He blinked slowly, trying to clear away the grittiness and blur from his eyes to look up at Dorian and nodded, the motion sending a fresh wave of pain through his head and bringing on a spasm of nausea that he fought back down. He took as deep a breath as he dared and let it out shakily. The mage pulled another blanket over him and Athris momentarily wondered if he should stay where he was, curled up against the farthest end of the bed, to keep at least a bit of distance between them before he took a chance and snuggled closer to his lover, drinking in the warmth of him. He felt fingers through his hair, slowly and purposefully running through the dark, tangled strands. 

The mage’s hands moved lower, assessing, running over his neck and shoulders, then down to his chest and back up to his temples. They wiped away the beads of sweat dotting his brow and came to rest at the base of his jaw, lightly rubbing at the scar that split the bottom of his left cheek. “Sleep, Amatus” Dorian said, then broke into a language that Athris couldn’t understand, the mage’s tongue tangled with unfamiliar but beautiful syllables. The heaviness of his eyelids deepened and for a moment he tried to fight against it, struggling against the alluring song of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Athris awoke to find the last light of day outside the windows, streaks of glowing copper swiftly fading into the night. It had been hours he realized, the better part of the morning and the entire afternoon had slipped away and for a brief moment he was unsure of where exactly he was and what he was doing there. He stirred and every inch of him protested, the awful, nagging full body ache still very much present, digging even deeper into his bones. He buried his head into the soft, warm fabric which did not actually feel much like his pillows at all, now that he thought about it. Nor did he normally sleep propped almost entirely upright although he did have to admit it was easier to breathe this way. 

He cracked an eye open and looked around him, only to realize that instead of lying against his pillows he was actually curled around Dorian who was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, reading. One arm thrown haphazardly across the mage’s chest, the other wrapped around his arm and his face pressed into the ivory and gold swirls of his robes. He heard the rustle of paper, the turn of a page and took the opportunity to raise his head up to rest on Dorian’s shoulder, tucked into the curve at the base of his neck. Athris pressed a kiss onto his collarbone, satisfied at the soft purr of pleasure it elicited. 

“Alive, then?” Dorian turned the corner of a page down to mark his place and placed the book neatly on the floor, then moved to trace the line of the elf’s jaw with his fingers. “Excellent. I was going to be unhappy if I had to break in a new lover already. Most unhappy, Amatus. I might have had to resurrect you simply for the satisfaction of killing you myself.” 

Athris grinned then frowned as a sudden chill overtook him. “Still cold” he mumbled against Dorian’s neck, a hint of the plaintive whine that always came out when he was tired, sick or drunk seeping into the words. They stung, forcing out a deep, wet cough that he was mercifully able to stifle before it turned into another full-blown fit. His whole body shook with cold; he knew it was from the chill chasing the fever but still he raised a hand, intending to cast a quick spell to stoke the flames that were smoldering in the hearth only to have Dorian grab his wrist, not entirely gently, and push it back down onto the blankets. 

“No, absolutely not. In your current state you’re more likely to set the curtains on fire. And before you get any ideas I do not mean that in a fun way. Let me.” And with a flick of his wrist the fire rose, jumping and crackling merrily. The mage let his long, nimble fingers trail back up Athris’ face, coming to rest at the temples, taking a moment to gently rub at them, noting that the tension in the elf’s jaw eased slightly. "Headache?" Athris gave a small nod, not wanting the movement to bring back the nausea from earlier. Dorian moved his hands upwards, running them slowly across the still-feverish forehead and then back through the elf's hair. 

“Go back to sleep, Amatus. You'll feel better in the morning.” Dorian said softly but still, an order in his words. Not that Athris would have considered disobeying. 

He always was pliable under the mage’s hands, Athris realized and accordingly, when Dorian’s touch came to rest at the base of his neck he sighed, melting deeper into the mattress. Clinging to him like a man being saved from drowning he moved in closer, curling up under the blankets which Dorian pulled up high and tight over his shoulders and closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

The next time Athris woke it was to a nagging, dry tickle in the back of his throat and an overwhelming sense of being intolerably hot. He looked over towards the hearth which was crackling merrily, all of the windows in his quarters were closed tightly. He rubbed at his neck in an attempt to quell the urge to cough that was slowly but surely taking over his consciousness. Dorian was curled behind him, his arms wrapped around Athris' chest. He could easily imagine the slight smile that always stretched across his lover's face while he slept - sometimes he wondered what Dorian dreamt of but the mage had never answered him, not really. Athris could feel Dorian's breath, soft and slow, against the back of his neck and for just a moment he thought about waking his lover, to feel those arms tighten around him, those hands reaching lower. 

Instead, as the pressure in his throat quickly intensified he squirmed out of the mage’s arms, loosening one limb from his grasp and then the next and stood up. As quickly as he got up he fell over with a loud crash and a stream of muffled Elvish swearing, his feet tangled in a blanket that he had seemingly tossed onto the floor sometime during the night. He heard Dorian mumble something unintelligible in his sleep and watched as he rolled over until he was face-down on the pillow. Hauling himself to his feet he stumbled towards the windows, throwing them and then the doors to the balcony wide open. He staggered out onto it, his feet strangely clumsy on the stones which seemed to be tilting just enough to upset his precarious balance. He leaned up against the railing, eagerly welcoming the cold mountain air onto his skin and into his lungs. 

This was the first time in days he could remember feeling better than on the verge of death and he intended to relish it. He ran his hands through his hair, appalled at how oily it felt. Later today, he thought, he would take a long, hot bath and soak this filth off of him. He wasn’t sure, given that elves almost never fell ill like this unless they were around filthy, disease-ridden shems, but he suspected the water might rinse this away from him and possibly even help him feel halfway normal again. 

He cleared his throat gently, hoping to rid himself of the tickle but it built quickly teasing out a hoarse fit of coughing and soon he was bent over the railing, his cheek resting against the cool stone. It was easier this time to find his breath but still he could feel his eyes watering and his cheeks flushing bright red against his usual pallor from the effort. He hoped the distance between them was enough to avoid waking Dorian but no, he realized when he felt a soft hand against his brow. 

“Well, you're no longer performing a disturbingly accurate impression of an oven. I suppose that’s progress, Amatus.” 

The elf looked up with a start, turning to lean against the ramparts. Dorian was still in his robes but his hair was rumpled, one unruly curl flopped lengthwise across his forehead. His mustache had fallen as well and Athris reached a hand up to curl the ends back up. 

“Take a deep breath for me?” The mage leaned in, placing his ear against Athris’ chest. He obeyed, just barely stifling a cough at the very end of his inhalation. 

“You do sound better, your previous performance not included” Dorian said, his fingers curling around the elf’s dark red hair. “How do you feel?”

The way he phrased the question made it clear that it deserved a serious answer but Athris couldn’t resist a joke. “Like I might just be allowed to live. What do you think?” 

Dorian pressed a quick kiss against the elf’s cheek. “I suppose I could allow that, as long as you’re aware that you have a lot to make up for. I have been incredibly lonesome while you were insensible, Amatus. And very bored, now that I think of it. Did you know I finished my book hours ago? I don't _do_ lonesome or bored especially well.” 

Athris smirked, grabbed Dorian’s hand and pulled him back inside, towards the bed. “A bored, lonely ‘Vint? We can’t have that, now can we?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo first foray back into writing anything even remotely above fluffy, sexless nonsense in ages so I apologize in advance for how awkward and rusty this probably is.

He leaned up to kiss Dorian but the mage pulled away slowly, placing one finger delicately against Athris’ lips. 

“My darling Amatus, before we proceed any further I simply must insist on a bath.” He didn’t mean to sound critical but it had been at two days since he last bathed, stuck in the Inquisitor's quarters as he had been and likely at least three for Athris given how long he had been ill - this was hardly up to his usual, fastidious standards that would have had them both bathing twice a day _with servants_ , thank you very much. He realized that expectations were rather lower at the very ass-end of Fereldan but still, any longer without a good bath was a sacrifice he surely couldn’t be expected to make.

Before Athris could protest Dorian snapped his fingers and the door to his quarters was thrown open. A line of servants carrying buckets of water marched in, made their way past the screen shielding the bathing area and filled up the copper bathing tub Josephine had requisitioned and had delivered several weeks before. At a quick nod from Dorian they were gone as quick as they’d arrived. 

“Dorian, you can’t commandeer Skyhold’s workers for matters such as this! They have other duties!” he protested weakly. A bath did sound wonderful especially if he was to have company but still, he knew he should argue against Inquisition resources being used for his own personal needs. 

Dorian laughed and stroked at his hair until his fingers met a particularly stubborn knot and withdrew with a small noise of what might have been disgust. “My dear Lord Inquisitor, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but Skyhold has essentially ground to a halt in your absence. The poor dears have nothing better to do with their time - had I not come to their rescue with this menial task they would have all turned to drink. Or cards, perish the thought.”

“We certainly can't have them taking up your favorite past times. One degenerate per castle is quite enough.” Athris teased, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to Dorian’s lips and then nipping at his lower lip. 

“You wound me, Amatus! Now, strip.” Dorian stood up and stretched deeply, reminding Athris suddenly of a large, potentially dangerous cat. He walked towards the tub, quick fingers unfastening the knots of his robes as he moved, the fabric falling off his shoulders and baring finely hewn muscle. He snatched a vial up from the small shelf on the wall and poured it into the water, clucking softly as he lowered his hand into the water, pushing the oil through the tub. Athris could only watch appreciatively as he fumbled with the buttons on his own tunic. It was both hideous and impractical, he thought. He really must have a word with Skyhold's tailor. He shivered as he pulled it off his arms, gooseflesh raising on his skin. Dorian reached his hands out in front of him and mumbled a quick incantation, filling the water with light, as though lit by fire from within. As the spell spread from one end of the tub to the other the water began to warm until it shimmered with heat, emitting a light steam from the surface redolent with mint and embrium. Dorian stepped out of his robes entirely, turning to face the elf as he pulled at the drawstring of his trousers and let them fall to the ground. Suddenly, watching his lover and feeling the pull of his magic against his own, he realized he was uncomfortably aroused. He fidgeted, stepping out of his trousers, shivering again as a sudden cold breeze teased against his skin, grateful that for the first time in days it wasn't from his fever. 

Dorian turned to face him and raised an eyebrow at his predicament. “Come here, Amatus” he purred as he stepped languidly into the tub. Athris followed as if in a dream, settling into the hot water in front of his lover, leaning back against his chest, feeling the warmth of his breath against the back of his head. He reached a hand behind him to run his fingers up the mage’s inner thigh, enjoying the shudder that wracked Dorian’s body then there was a hand smacking at his. 

“Sorry, ma vhenan… you know I just can’t help myself,” he grinned as he turned his head to look back at the man. 

“If you would just take this seriously we could move on to other, better pursuits” Dorian whispered breathily as he moved a soft, soapy cloth over Athris’ shoulders, rubbing circles against his upper back then moving up his neck. Obediently he ducked his hair underwater, moaning softly as the mage massaged his scalp in between scrubbing at his hair. When he was finally allowed to surface he turned over and took the cloth from Dorian, taking the bar of soap bobbing at the surface of the water and softly moved it up and down his chest, reaching down the sides of his body to his waist and coming to rest at the very base of his hips. He coughed suddenly just barely managing to turn his head to the side, the pungent scent of the oils finally deep into his lungs and Dorian pulled away from him again, a look of concern across his face. 

“Are you alright? We can stop now, if you like.” Dorian’s body betrayed his words, Athris felt the man’s cock hard against his stomach and he grinned, his other hand reached around to give Dorian a few quick strokes up his shaft, his thumb circling his head, enjoying the small gasp of pleasure Dorian made. He watched as the mage shuddered, whimpering for more. He kissed the man quickly and hopped out of the tub, wrapping himself in a towel and grabbing another for Dorian who was following close behind him. 

“Does it sound like I want to stop?”


End file.
